


A Ghost Should Be So Practical

by elise_509



Category: Captain America (2011), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), X-Men (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 19:09:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elise_509/pseuds/elise_509
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Logan doesn’t hear what happened to Steve until they find him in the ice 70 years later.  </p><p>By then, Steve’s just Captain America to him, and Captain America doesn’t mean a thing to Wolverine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is primarily Steve/Logan. Steve/Tony and Logan/Rogue are minor elements of the second chapter.

**1943**

“Who’s the lug in the tights?” 

It’s raining again and his cigar is starting to taste like mildew. It’s not really lit so much as smoldering and he’d give up the ghost if the damn thing were singed down to the nub. But he’s barely gotten one decent smoke out of it. Might be salvageable if he can find a place to dry it out in this mud-soaked shithole of a camp. 

“What’d you say?” Victor takes off his helmet and shakes his head violently, droplets of water flying all over his already dirty and moth-eaten cot. 

“Three o’clock. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice the fuckin’ stars and stripes,” Logan mutters, nodding his head toward the general’s command post. 

“Oh, him.” Victor rolls his eyes as if that’s old news and carelessly tosses his helmet to the ground. The rusted metal of his bed creaks horribly as he sinks his considerable weight onto the edge of the mattress and starts the arduous task of unlacing his muddy boots. He offers Logan a snarl of a grin, sarcastic joy lifting and then dropping his words. “That’s ‘Captain America’, didn’t you hear?”

“Captain _America_?” That seems more ludicrous with every syllable. He spits on the ground, trying to get the bad taste out of his mouth. “If they think I’m saluting _that_ guy-“

“You don’t salute anyone.” Victor half-smiles, more to himself than anyone else. “Doesn’t matter, he’s no captain. Just some actor, playing war hero.”

This rings a faint bell somewhere in his recent memory. A vague recollection of a few conversations in the mess, some whisperings while out in the trenches, about some “star spangled man” who saved the day, all-American hero from the blonde hair and square jaw all the way down to the tips of his perfect toes. 

“Wait, the guy who rescued the 107th – that’s _him_?” He looks again, eyes narrowing in judgment. He’d figured the whole tale for some starry-eyed schmucks buying into propaganda manufactured to keep their spirits up but it’s hard to deny the reality of this supposed Captain standing a stone’s throw away. 

He figures the costume says it all, though. He’s been through enough war to know the lines they’ll feed you to keep you dying for the cause. In wartime – hell, at _all_ times – cowards outweigh the heroes; bad men outnumber the good. That’s just how it is and how it’ll always be. The few good men he’s known are never the ones who get the glory. And they certainly didn’t dress up like Superman from those stupid comic books. “I don’t think that boy’s seen a day of war in his life.” 

“Dunno.” Victor shrugs. A boot finally comes off, hits the ground with a thud. Victor strips off his sock and flexes his dirt-caked toes with a satisfied sigh. Logan can tell he really couldn’t care less about Captain America or anyone else. “I think I’m just gonna fight barefoot from now on.”

“You do that.” Logan grunts, teeth grinding the end of his cigar as he sets his jaw and stands up. 

“Where are you going?” 

He doesn’t spare his brother a glance as he ducks back out into the rain. Every step sinks deeply into inches of mud but it barely slows his pace. 

“My men and I can certainly take that on, it’s only a matter of-“ 

“Colonel.” Logan interrupts the Captain brusquely as he enters the tent.

“Well, Logan, c’mon in. No need to stand on ceremony,” Phillips sighs, waving him forward even though Logan’s already well where he wants to be. “Or even decent manners.” 

“Who’s the new guy.”

“Steve Rogers.” A steady hand is outstretched immediately. Rogers smiles at him, waiting for a response, and his offered hand does not waver when Logan lets it hang there, untaken. Logan eyes him up and down, taking him in up close. He sniffs the air slightly, trying to pick up some kind of scent that might explain what this kid’s about.

Cause he _is_ just a kid, god damn young enough that there’s still hope and innocence and other such nonsense shining blindingly within his blue eyes. 

“What are you, seventeen, eighteen?” Probably some high school football star who shipped on out to show Hitler who’s boss. Give him a good punch on the nose. 

“Twenty-five, sir.”

“Doesn’t make much difference.”

“How old are you, sir?” Rogers' jaw tightens ever-so-slightly. It’s not impertinence, but Logan can tell with the right push, the right reason, it could be. The guy’s ready and willing to fight. 

He somehow doubts the kid’s got the goods to back up the spirit, no matter how broad his shoulders are. 

“Older than you think. And don’t call me sir.”

Having seen all he needs to see, Logan turns on his heel and walks out.

*******

Turns out, the kid’s not so bad in a fight.

There’s blood in the air, along with sweat and smoke and phosphorous. Men are burning miles away, but it’s a scent that carries. In every war death smells slightly different and looks the same. 

He and Victor are in the midst of the battle but warring it out on their own, just as they always do, when he senses that they’re in too deep and they’re outnumbered in a way that’s not a welcome challenge but an unwelcome problem. 

“Shit.” 

Victor nods. It’s that simple and that complicated. 

They barely have a moment to consider a way out before a huge chunk of flying metal goes whizzing past his ear, fast enough that he hadn’t heard it coming. The disc takes out three men like dominoes and then makes an impossible turn back from where it came. 

“The fuck.” Logan snaps his head to follow its path, and sees a flash of red, white and blue. It’s a shield, Logan realizes. Rogers races past him at remarkable speed, targeting the enemy with breathtaking precision. 

It’s been said that he and his brother fight like perfect animals, all ferocious rage and base instinct, but that’s not how Rogers does it. He’s a graceful danger, otherworldly and powerful. Beautiful. 

He remembers to blink and realizes it’s the three of them now, alone in a clearing save for the dead or dying Jerries lying at their feet. It’s not the only time he’s found himself in this situation, but it’s the first he’s sure he didn’t do it. 

“Come on, we’ve got them on the run,” Rogers shouts, waving them forward. He’s already moving. Up ahead a few more men fall in behind him, coming in from the right flank. Logan recognizes some of them as the Cap’s Howling Commandos and for a second he hesitates. Following them would be like joining. 

Victor shoots him a look. 

“We’re seriously gonna go with the guy in the mask?”

“What the hell,” he shrugs, and breaks into a run.

*******

“Thanks for coming with us today, it was a great help,” Steve sits down next to him without waiting for an invitation. He holds out a brand new cigar with a faint smile on his face.

Logan angles his head toward him. 

He doesn’t have anything to say so he just looks. Discerns. Studies. Captain America is a ridiculous thing, really. He wonders if the guy knows it. He wonders if Rogers thinks this war is worth it, that they’re honestly doing something good by being here. 

Except he doesn’t actually wonder. He knows. He knows this kid thinks he’s making a difference. It’s all over him, that stink of blind faith in his country and his mission. 

He grabs the cigar roughly and doesn’t say thank you before he lights it up. 

“Would you and your brother consider joining us permanently?” 

“Nope,” Logan grunts. He picks up a skin mag from Victor’s stack of things and leans back on his cot, idly flipping through it. Rogers glances toward it and quickly brings his gaze back up to Logan’s face. The kid blushes in an amusing way that makes Logan take a moment to consider.

He looks the good Captain up and down, eyebrow raised. Rogers does fill out those skin tight rags they’ve got him in, that much can be said for the guy. 

“You ever take that stupid costume off or do they make you wear it all the time?”

Rogers starts, a bit embarrassed, and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“I went right into a briefing when we got back, I haven’t had time to-“ He stops, rubbing the back of his neck as the rest of his sentence stammers off. He takes a pause and a deep breath, then puts his hands firmly on his own knees and gets back on track. “I’ve seen the way you fight. You’re quick. You’re smart. You would be a valuable addition to the team. You both would be.”

“Do I look like I want to be scouted for your All-American Squad?” Logan takes the cigar from his mouth and taps ash to the ground. “I don’t give two shits about the good ol’ U.S. of A. Hell, I’m Canadian.”

“Canada’s a grand place,” Rogers states and Logan has to chuckle. 

“Kid, are you for real?”

“I told you, I’m not a kid.” There’s a frown, and that, that’s real. Logan doesn’t need this. He doesn’t need to be bogged down with some guy that’s got something to prove.

“And I’m not joining your team, so I think we’re done here.” He tosses the tattered magazine aside and sits up. He gestures to the flap in the tent, signaling Rogers to make his way out. 

He doesn’t move. 

“We’re taking down HYDRA one piece at a time. It’s important work.” 

“It always seems important at the time. Twenty years from now, folks won’t even remember what we were fightin’ for.” Logan scratches his beard with his thumb. Rogers bristles, clearly riled but trying to keep a lid on it. 

“I don’t believe that.”

“I don’t care what you believe. Lemme tell you what else - I don’t care about HYDRA. Don’t care about Nazis or Mussolini and I sure as hell don’t care about the damn Japs.”

“Then why are you here? Why fight at all?” Rogers demands, anger flashing in his eyes. Logan coldly stares him down.

“I fight because I like to fight. I fight because it’s how I get paid.”

Rogers stands up and maybe it’s just the righteous rage but he seems taller. 

“I fight because it’s the right thing to do.” 

Logan doesn’t flinch. 

“Well that’s your problem, isn’t it.”

Rogers clenches his fists by his sides, whole body tense. Finally he shakes his head and pushes out of the tent and back out into the endless rain. 

“I’ll talk to Victor myself,” he tosses back over his shoulder and Logan outright laughs. He’d like to be there to see that. Super solider or not, Victor’s gonna squash his hopes like a bug.

*******

They’re in some dirty godforsaken town close to the German border when Logan runs into Steve again.

It’s a big goddamn war and if Rogers hadn’t been there first, Logan may have thought the guy had followed him. It seems like too big a coincidence.

But as coincidences go, this once seems to serve a purpose. He’s just not clear what it is until he happens across the Captain as they’re setting up camp in their newly won position. There are vacant houses and taverns and other bombed out shells of buildings, but the Germans like to leave gifts behind. Men are sweeping for mines and other fun things that explode before anyone gets to move anywhere more comfortable.

A medic truck thunders by and when the blur of red and white and military green clears his line of sight, that’s when Logan sees him. His uniform is slashed and burnt and there’s a swath of dried blood caked across his cheek. 

He doesn’t know why he goes over, but he does. He might’ve been a little glad to see Rogers still alive. 

“Cap’n,” Logan greets him with a small nod and Rogers smiles. He looks tired, beat up, and surely has no reason to do so, yet he still smiles. 

“Logan, good to see you.” 

Logan can’t decide if Rogers is just that stubborn or that affable. Maybe a bit of both. Or a lot of both. 

“Still prancing around in that getup, huh.” He pushes a finger at one of the torn flaps and Steve half-laughs, half-winces. 

“Speaking of which, you’ll need to take that off, Captain Rogers, so I can clean this up,” the pretty slip of a nurse standing beside him gestures to his shirt. Logan doubts the other men get such immediate and personal attention. Rogers shakes his head and nods toward the medic tent where the more gravely injured men are being loaded in as the cots are set up. It’s the usual gory spectacle that Logan as a rule takes pains to avoid. 

“Thank you, but I’ll be fine.” The woman looks at him with fondness in her eyes and makes to protest. Steve drops his voice a little, sounding even kinder and more patient than is typical. “Really, I’m perfectly okay. Go on and help the others.”

She reluctantly leaves and Logan steps closer, taking her place. 

“She only wanted to get you half-naked while you were still woozy,” Logan states, winking and flashing a grin that’s all teeth. “You just lost yourself tonight’s date.” Rogers ducks his head, blushing, but his voice comes out steady.

“I don’t get woozy.”

“Can’t blame a gal for trying though, I suppose. There’s gotta be some perks to being a nurse in this hellish place, you-“ Logan’s train of thought comes to a grinding halt, his words falling sideways. He reaches out to touch the side of Steve’s face. When he’d walked over, there had been a large gash striking across Steve’s cheekbone and now it’s diminished by at least half its size. 

“What?” Steve asks, clearly alarmed by both the touch and the disbelieving look on Logan’s face. He wrenches his face away from Logan’s grasp and brings his own hand to his cheek. The table he’s sitting on creaks as he shifts his weight. “What is it?”

Logan pulls at the tear in the fabric at Steve’s shoulder, ripping it further and taking a look at the skin underneath. 

“You’re healing.” 

Steve moves to stand, carefully pulling away. 

“I wasn’t that badly injured, I’m hardly-“

“No, no, I got eyes, Rogers, quit the shit.” Not deterred, Logan reaches for the bottom of the Captain’s heavy shirt, yanking it upward and trying to see how his burns are faring. The other man pulls back sharply, shoving him away. 

“I heal more quickly than normal. It’s not a big deal.” He’s trying to downplay it, Logan’s attention unwanted. 

But Logan continues to stare; he knows he must look like some kind of startled, terrified animal, but he can’t help it. 

“What else can you do?” He demands, and Steve takes a step back from him, bumping against the table. Steve’s bright blue eyes are wide with alarm. 

“Logan…” 

That’s when he realizes he has drawn his claws, the sharp bones protruding from between his knuckles. He’d barely felt the sting of breaking skin that time. He looks down at his own hands and then takes a darting glance around them. No one else is close by, and no one seems to have noticed. 

Logan shoves up his sleeve and extends a bare forearm into the small space between his body and Steve’s. Slowly, he drags one of his claws across his skin, gritting his teeth as it slices through and blood pools to the surface. He retracts his claws with a wince and waits for Steve’s reaction.

“Logan, what are you…” Steve trails off as Logan’s skin reseals itself almost immediately, leaving a streak of blood behind and nothing more. He grabs Logan’s arm, fingers a hot press against Logan’s undamaged flesh. Steve’s touch makes something in his gut clench, a warm twist of want shooting through his veins. He doesn’t have time to decipher that and he doesn’t want to. It screams of a complication he does not need.

Before Rogers says anything else, Logan tugs his arm back and shoves his sleeve down. 

“Now you can see why I might be interested in your little magic trick,” he explains. “So. What else can you do.”

Steve nods downward to Logan’s hands. 

“Not that.” 

“What else, Rogers.” He advances forward, not in the mood for games. Rogers holds up his hands to stop him. 

“It was a serum,” he says quickly. “An experiment.”

“An experiment.” 

“To create a stronger, better soldier. This time last year I was a ninety-pound weakling with asthma.”

The fact that Logan has to look up at him in order to scowl makes his explanation even harder to believe. 

“It’s true.” Rogers assures him. “Only reason it’s not common knowledge is that the formula’s gone, they can’t repeat the experiment. I’m the only one.”

“The only one?”

“Only one that didn’t turn into a crazed red-skinned homicidal maniac.” 

Logan narrows his eyes, trying to look at Steve with these new parameters in mind.

“Becoming a homicidal maniac was a possibility? You certainly rolled the dice on that one, pal.”

“Dr. Erskine…he…well, he thought that my chances were good.” Steve shuffles his feet and averts his face, something about the memory obviously bothersome. Logan doesn’t particularly care what the story is there; he only needs the bare bones facts. 

“This Dr. Erskine, he still around?”

“No. He was killed. Assassinated.” He bites his lip and Logan shifts his stance with a small grunt. He hopes Rogers isn’t about to cry. 

“So, what…you can run faster, longer, harder? That’s about it?” The man’s physique is impressive, but if all the serum did was make him into a better athlete, it doesn’t really explain the whole Captain America bullshit, with the costume and the Commandos and the indestructible shield. 

“That’s about it.” Rogers repeats. It’s clearly not, but Logan senses that it’s wrapped up in that longer story and not of much real use to him. He lets out a long sigh and stares down the cobblestone road that cuts through the center of town. He’s debating whether or not he should tell Victor about Rogers, deciding that he shouldn’t and then wondering why not, when he feels Steve move closer. Their shoulders bump and then Steve is lifting Logan’s hand. 

Logan turns to face him slowly. His usual instinct when someone touches him is to snap back and fight, but the tension in his body as Steve rubs a thumb over his knuckles isn’t that kind of tension. It’s warm and it’s liquid and it’s melting him into the ground where he stands.

“What happened to you? To make you this way?” Steve inquires gently. Logan watches Steve’s thumb moving back and forth against his skin and it occurs to him that they’re practically holding hands, right out in the open. 

To his credit he manages not to draw more attention to it, instead disentangling his hand from Steve’s hold and taking a small step back.

“Born this way, kid.” He thumps Rogers on the shoulder and his face screws up in puzzlement over the swift change in Logan’s demeanor. 

There’s a leggy brunette walking toward them, her uniform fiercely polished and her ruby red lips set in a firm frown. He’s heard the talk – she’s Cap’s girl or something like that and that seems reason enough to avoid her. Two steps behind her is Captain America’s second-in-command, a Sergeant Barnes who Logan can’t help but think of merely as Steve’s shadow. Barnes’ gaze is trained on him, questions clearly forming behind his eyes. 

Logan moves away before they’re close enough to engage him in conversation. Rogers calls after him but he calmly ignores it. 

“Still no luck with drafting Private Logan to the Commandos then,” Agent Carter’s clipped British accent is the last bit of conversation he hears before he’s safely away. 

So what if his hands are trembling.

*******

He doesn’t say no the next time he’s asked.

Granted, he doesn’t say yes either.

He just kinda shows up and falls into line between the dope in the bowler hat and the Frenchie. Captain America catches his eye and nods a little in understanding. He glares in response but it’s just for show. Logan can see a smile playing at the Cap’s lips as he turns to march forward.

Victor doesn’t join the attack on the HYDRA base. Logan thought he’d be acutely aware of his brother’s absence, but strangely he finds that he manages just fine. 

He can read Rogers’ cues before he actually makes the order and whenever he turns around, expecting to find himself exposed, Steve’s at his back. It’s easy – far more easy than he ever imagined it could be. 

Through smoke and gunfire and the mess of confusion he senses where Steve is at all times and it’s like they’ve been a team their whole lives. 

It’s an adrenaline rush he hasn’t felt since the first battle he’d ever fought. As Steve drives his shield through the hatch door of one of HYDRA’s battle tanks, dropping the grenade inside and jumping clear of the rocking explosion, Logan wants to believe in what they’re doing. Captain America is fighting _for_ something and Logan can feel himself being swept up alongside him. 

When it’s all over and Colonel Phillips is sweeping another HYDRA installation off their big map, it occurs to Logan that he should be scared of what it all means. 

Steve grins at him across the table, dotted now with fewer black bases and red flags, and something like panic seizes and grabs at his heart. He winks back and leaves the room before he does something worse. 

Bucky corners him later, fists the lapels of his uniform and slams him against a wall. He’s angry enough that he’s able to do it. 

“He doesn’t run away. Not from a god damned thing.” Barnes’ hands push at his chest, his voice laced with barely contained rage. “He doesn’t back down. So I don’t know what you’re playing at, but if you let him down I’m gonna have your head. You got that?”

“Yes, sir.” Logan growls, prying Bucky’s hands from his jacket and shoving them down to his side.

Logan could take him down as easy as breathing, but he doesn’t. There’s something admirable in Barnes’ protectiveness, as if it’s his job to keep Steve out of harm’s way, like the invincible super soldier needs protecting. 

And he has to admit, as far as instincts go, Bucky is pretty on target. 

He remains still, breathing in deep through his nose to control his own temper, as the other man storms away. 

Agent Carter saunters around the corner, eyebrow raised. A smirk tugs at the corner of her full red lips and she looks from him, leaning against the wall, to Bucky’s departing figure. Even in her silence, he can sense her amusement. 

“What?” He snaps at her. Her smirk settles into a deep frown and she steps into his personal space, meeting his glare head on. 

“What Sergeant Barnes told you? It goes _double_ for me. You step out of line, Private Logan, I’ll have more than just your head.” 

From the look on her face, he doesn’t doubt it. 

He doesn’t stick around to see if they’ll follow through on their threats. Somehow they were under the impression that he thought this was all worth it. 

They clearly don’t know much about him. 

He doesn’t bother saying good-bye and he’d like to think Steve expected him to be a disappointment, but he knows better. Steve’s not the kind to expect that of anyone.

*******

“I’m sorry about your friend.”

Steve is sitting on the floor beside the bed. It’s not his bed, or his room, because Captain America obviously refused to bunk up in one of the last remaining and stable buildings around, but tonight he hadn’t been given a choice. Logan doubted Steve had it in him to fight when Agent Carter had kicked out the officer who had the billet and put Steve there in his place. 

He’d seen Agent Carter struggling beneath Steve’s weight as she’d helped him from the remnants of the bar and across the square to officer’s HQ. Steve had been clutching a bottle then, like he’s clutching a bottle now, and Logan can smell the liquor coming off of him even from where he stands in the doorway. 

Steve tilts his head back, a tiny amount of surprise registers through the dense anguish that covers his face.

“I didn’t know you were here.”

“Passing through. Heard about what happened. I wanted to see if you were okay.” 

Steve snorts a little at that. 

“You drunk?” Logan asks, lowering himself to sit on the hard wooden floor beside Steve. Steve hands him the bottle. 

“Sadly, no. Doesn’t do a thing. Help yourself.” Steve lets his head hang down, his shoulders slumping.

“Thanks, don’t mind if I do.” Logan knocks it back and it’s like fire on his tongue and acid down his throat. It’s not the worst he’s tasted but it’s pretty damn bad. If this stuff can’t get Steve drunk, he’s sure nothing else can. He sets the bottle on the ground, not bothering to give it back to Steve. He doubts the other man really wants it anyway. 

He’s probably only drinking because he has to do _something_. 

“I’m surprised you’re alone up here.” He’s really not surprised. Logan had waited until Carter had left before coming up. He’d watched her look sadly up at Steve’s window before leaving, brushing away tears as she did so. He should care that the girl’s obviously in love, but he doesn’t. 

Steve’s head snaps up, eyebrows lifting. 

“Who, Peggy?” He gets Logan’s meaning immediately, blushing even through his pallor of grief. “She’s not that kind of girl.”

“And you’re not that kind of guy.” Logan adds. “Times like these, I tell you, it helps to be that kind of guy.”

Steve draws his legs up close to his body, folding his hands on top of his knees. 

“Don’t see how that would help.”

“At least it would take your mind off of it. Y’know, since liquor ain’t gonna work.” 

Steve gives him a helpless little shrug and Logan looks toward the window, wishing Steve would be something else other than so obviously devastated. But losing Barnes is not a wound that’s gonna heal quickly. Or ever. Logan wants to think that he’s pitiful, that a grown man shouldn’t be broken like this, but he can’t throw up that wall like usual. He feels badly for the guy. 

Fuck, he just feels. 

“Look, Rogers-“ He wants to say something _right_ but when he turns back to face him and finds the other man’s gaze trained intently on his face, his mind empties of everything except _Steve_. The plea is right there in his eyes, speaking so much louder than words. 

Logan swallows hard and offers a perfunctory denial. 

“You don’t want that. Not with me.” 

“I know I don’t want to feel like this,” he replies and he’s shifting closer. Logan remembers Bucky’s words to him, coming back as clear as day. He’s not an idiot; he knows what this is. It’s Steve finally turning tail. This is what Steve running looks like. Of all the terrors in the world, losing his best friend is the one he can’t face.

Steve puts a hand on his knee and Logan knows he should pull back, but he doesn’t want to. In fact, he’s the one that bridges the small space left between them and presses his mouth to Steve’s. 

If he’s being honest with himself, and he usually is, he came here for this. He might as well take it. 

Steve makes a small noise of assent and lets himself be kissed. At first it seems like that’s all it will be, him doing the kissing and Steve letting it happen, but then Steve lets his mouth fall slack and easy and his hand moves to the side of Logan’s face, fingers gentle against his rough beard. After a moment that hand drops down, tugging and twining at the silver chain of his dog tags where they lay against his white t-shirt. Steve’s trying to pull him closer, but they can’t be much closer without one of them climbing on top of the other. 

Logan pulls back slightly, a bit more breathless than he’d like. 

“You won’t be able to forget,” he warns Steve, and even he’s not sure if he means this careless encounter won’t clear his mind of Bucky’s loss, or if he means this careless encounter will be forever lodged in memory, but it doesn’t seem to matter. 

“I know,” Steve nods and moves forward with no hesitation. Steve’s lips are soft but bruising as he begins to kiss with the same fire with which he does everything else. Logan wants it, wants that focus on every inch of his body. 

It’s selfish and he’s taking advantage. But what little conscience he has left is drowned out by the base need to have Steve’s large, capable hands on him.

Steve’s too put together, too pressed and neat for someone falling apart on the inside. Logan slides the tie off, slips those shining buttons loose and pushes the heavy jacket from Steve’s shoulders. He gets Steve down to his undershirt, the jacket and button down still tangled around his elbows, before setting to work on his belt. 

“What do you want?” Logan asks as he slides one hand down to touch Steve, half-hard and too hot beneath the confines of his wool uniform and cotton underwear. His other hand cradles the back of Steve’s head, pulling him back to his mouth. 

“Do anything,” Steve breathes out and Logan tries to tamp down on the shudder that wracks his body. “Do something.”

“Shouldn’t say that.” It’s a useless warning. Steve really would let him do anything at this point and he knows it. Logan tries not to imagine where that could lead and instead gives Steve’s cock a firm stroke before pausing to push Steve’s clothes past his hips so he can move his hand more freely. 

“Close your eyes,” Logan mumbles against Steve’s cheek, the faint brush of stubble against his lips. “Fuck,” he curses to himself. He shouldn’t be doing this. But Steve’s falling apart in his hands and this somehow seems better than any possible alternative. 

He should stop, get the rest of Steve’s clothes off, maybe move this to the bed, but it’s moving faster than he can think. Despite the booze, Steve still smells too damn good and his mind is swimming from the rush of blood to his own cock. His hand tightens on Steve, twisting as he pulls upward. 

He feels the answering groan all the way to his bones. 

Steve’s watching, eyes open but heavy-lidded and hazy as Logan works him toward completion. He’s half in Logan’s embrace, head lolling against his shoulder, and whenever he shifts into Logan’s touch, it sets every inch of Logan’s body on fire. 

He’s going to come just from this. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to come at all – as if giving Steve this and not taking anything for himself might make it all right. 

“Logan…” Steve’s hand tightens around his dog tags, pulling hard enough to snap the chain. His body tenses and Logan damns himself for not getting Steve undressed as waves of pleasure send those tightly packed muscles rippling. He comes with a small, pained groan, coating Logan’s hand and wrist with most of it, the rest splattering over his formerly pristine tee. Logan’s going to smell Steve on his skin for days.

He bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, steeling himself against his own orgasm. It rips through him despite his best efforts to hold it back. 

Steve sags against him, breathing hard and ragged. He slowly uncurls his fist and Logan sees he was clutching the tags so hard that his name and number are imprinted on Steve’s palm. Steve lets the dog tags fall from his grasp in some kind of slow motion. The tin clinks against the floor at Logan’s side. 

Logan doesn’t know what to say now. He disentangles himself from around Steve’s body, giving the man a minute to collect himself. He wipes his hand clean on the inside of his own shirt while Steve adjusts his pants back around his hips. Then Steve inches away slightly, putting space between them, and puts his head in his hands for a moment. 

“Feel better?” Logan’s voice sounds pleasantly rough. Steve chuffs out a laugh.

“I did, for a minute there,” he admits, a flush creeping back up his neck. 

“I’d be happy to fuck you the rest of the night if it’d help.” It’s half a joke and completely the truth. Reality is already setting back in though, if it ever left at all. He should go before the weight of what just happened comes down on Steve’s shoulders. 

He’s at the door when Steve speaks.

“I’m going after Schmidt. I’d really like it if you came with me. With us.”

Logan looks at Steve, still sitting on the floor, and he can practically see Steve picking up the pieces and putting himself back together. 

“Yeah.” He says. It’s not an agreement, just an acknowledgment that he knows exactly what Steve’s going to do. 

Logan shuts the door carefully behind him. 

It’s not until he’s halfway to Japan, sitting cramped and cold in the belly of a C-47, that he realizes he left his tags on Steve’s floor.

******

He doesn’t hear what happened to Steve until they find him in the ice 70 years later.

By then, Steve’s just Captain America to him, and Captain America doesn’t mean a thing to Wolverine.


	2. Chapter 2

**2012**

Logan taps his fingers idly against the tabletop as he lounges back in his chair. He’d figured that being an X-Man would mean some tiresome bullshit work, but if these meetings with SHIELD are going to become a regular thing, he might lose what little patience he has left. 

Teams teaming up with other teams? It’s like someone purposely is trying to drive him nuts. 

The Avengers are slowly making their way in, as if to remind him SHIELD’s New York HQ is their turf and they’ll do as they please. First is the redhead with the amazing rack and the short one with the arrows. He doesn’t have his arrows now, but Logan remembers it because he recalls thinking it was such a specific and lame talent to have. 

“So who are those two again?” He mumbles to Rogue, who shoots him a withering look that’s completely undermined by a smile. 

“Black Widow and Hawkeye. You have the file right there, Logan. As if you don’t remember from watchin’ the news anyway. Or from the hundreds a’ times we’ve brought it up-“

“Yeah yeah, can it,” he waves her off brusquely. “Forget I asked.” She rolls her eyes at him like the kid sister he never asked for. She’s the only one impervious to his cranky moods. He knows she wasn’t real happy when the supposed cure wore off and her powers returned, but he has to admit that he’s selfishly glad she’s back around.

Dr. Banner, Stark and Mr. Red, White and Blue come in together like the Three Amigos, not stopping their discussion as they take their seats. The Hulk is easy to remember and Stark’s omnipresence in the media makes him hard to avoid, much less forget. Bachelor No. 3, however…

Logan discreetly lifts the corner of the manila folder in front of him, trying to remember what Stars ‘n’ Stripes full deal is. 

Captain America. Steve Rogers. The guy from the ice. Right. 

He looks across the table at the Captain, trying to figure out what the niggling feeling in the back of his brain is all about. He drops it in favor of pointing out that they’re down a member. 

“Where’s Fabio?” He asks loudly, capturing everyone’s attention. 

“ _Thor_ is in Asgard,” Black Widow – Natasha, that’s it – replies curtly, folding her hands in front of her on the table and leveling him with a blank stare. 

“Logan?” 

The room falls silent in a way that’s frankly startling. 

Steve Rogers is staring at him. He’d actually halted right in the middle of what he was doing, his pen halfway through writing something down in the file in front of him. The color has slowly drained out of Rogers’ face.

“Wolverine. What’s it to you?” He retorts, already put off by this guy knowing him beyond his codename. _Rogers_ probably memorized the files. He seems like the type. 

“I didn’t…I didn’t realize you were Wolverine. I didn’t even know you were still alive.” 

Logan glances around the table, wondering if this is some kind of hazing he wasn’t privy to. 

“Do you two know each other?” Rogue pipes up, ever pleasant, gesturing between them. 

“I don’t know him from Adam,” Logan states and Rogers’ brow furrows. 

“He seems to know you,” Stark retorts, leaning toward Rogers with a perplexed, kind of concerned look of his own. Stark puts a hand on the Captain’s forearm and Logan wonders for a moment if _that’s_ how things are over at the Avengers Tower. 

Rogers opens his mouth to say something, struggling to find the words, when Director Fury stalks in, pointing a remote control device into the air and opening up a half dozen screens full of information at his end of the room. 

“Hello, children, glad you all could make it. Now sit down and shut the hell up, we got a lot to get through and zero time to do it. Got it? Good.” He pauses, finally taking the temperature of the room and noticing that everyone seems to be looking between Logan and Steve. 

“Rogers, you got something better to do?” Fury snaps his fingers. Stark nudges Rogers under the table and makes a little whistling noise.

“Yo. Stevie. Eyes front, Daddy’s angry.” Stark mutters and Rogers quickly colors, embarrassed.

“S-s-sorry,” he stutters, throwing one last glance at Logan across the table. He sits up straight and finally sets his pen down. “My apologies, Director.”

Fury must like the Captain because he merely gives him a long look with his good eye and then, without saying another word about it, turns back to the problem at hand. 

Logan tries to care about what Fury is saying, but that’s hard enough to do on a good day. It’s damn near impossible when he can feel Steve’s attention drifting toward him throughout the entire meeting. 

Something tells him he’s going to have a problem.

*******

“Nice ride.”

Logan had heard someone following behind him; he’d hoped he could get the engine revved and loud before his shadow could speak, but no such luck. 

“That one’s mine.” Rogers points to the Harley pulled in two spots over. 

“I like mine better.” It’s a lie, mostly because he doesn’t think of the bike as his. It’s Scott’s bike. Scott may be dead, but that doesn’t change the fact Logan ripped the cycle off from him. 

It’s also a lie because Rogers’ bike is the sexiest bike he’s seen in a good long while. A vintage classic with the kind of rock solid body they just don’t make anymore. And since he’s being honest with himself, he should go ahead and admit that Rogers is the sexiest guy he’s seen in a good long while too. So clean cut that his fingers kind of itch to dirty all that perfect up. He hasn’t liked the look of someone so much since the first time he saw Jean. 

All the more reason to get outta here.

“See ya at the next shin-dig, bub,” Logan kickstarts the ignition and the engine comes to life with a satisfying roar. 

“You really don’t remember?” Rogers asks softly, stepping forward and putting a hand on the left bar. Logan lets the engine fall to a low rumble. It’s perplexing that his body is entirely at ease; objectively he knows that any uninvited incursion into his space is usually met with an instinctive defensive reaction. It’s how he’s wired. But he just doesn’t feel it this time. 

“Remember what, exactly?”

“Me.” 

Logan tries to get a read on what the Captain means, what that _me_ entails, but the word was so direct and straightforward that it’s hard to read into. 

“What is it I’m supposed to remember about you?” 

Rogers shifts his stance, gaze dropping to the ground nervously, then he switches course.

“Read in your file that your memory prior to the adamantium incident has basically been erased. That you’ve only recovered bits and pieces.” 

“Ever wonder how much better the world was before we all could read up on each other?” 

This earns him a small sheepish smile and an awkward blush.

“Sorry, I-“

“I read your file too,” Logan cuts off his apology. “I’m just pointin’ out that it’s creepy.”

“Forgot that about you,” Rogers’ grin is real now, full of amusement. “No bullshit.”

Logan cocks an eyebrow at him, the Cap’s word choices definitely not getting past him.

“So exactly how do you know me?” He decides that Rogers must know him from _somewhere_. As unlikely and strange as it seems, he can’t imagine that he’s being put on. Rogers wouldn’t have anything to gain from that.

“The war.”

“Which one? There’s been a lot of war, kid, and from what I’ve gathered, I was in quite a few of ‘em.” A pinched look comes over Rogers’ face at Logan’s reply.

“World War Two. If you’ve read my file, then you know my story.” 

He knows enough that Steve doesn’t have to explain the logistics of a WWII soldier being alive and kicking and a mere twenty-six years old in 2012. 

He shrugs.

“Your file left out the part about us being buddies.”

“That’s not…We weren’t exactly…” Rogers starts, then stops, clearly reconsidering what he was about to say. He seems uneasy, opening his mouth to speak and hesitating yet again. 

Logan glances at the hand still resting on the handlebar of his cycle and tries to think the situation through. If he had known the Captain back then, would they have been friends? He doubts it. 

He may not remember much from before, but he knows who he is. If he did back then what he wants to do now, he might have an inkling about what’s hanging the good captain up. 

“Hey.” Logan wraps his hand around Cap’s wrist, tugs him closer. It’s just a guess, and it’s a risk, but he’d rather know. He raises up a little, grabs the front of Rogers’ blue hoodie. “Jog my memory.” 

The kiss doesn’t bring the past flooding back. He didn’t really think it would. But his body recognizes something because his cock goes blindingly hard in a near instant. He slides his tongue along Steve’s and reaches up, fingers shoving roughly through his smooth blond hair. 

When they break apart, both he and Steve are slightly breathless and already on edge, which says a lot. 

“That what we were?” Logan asks, and Rogers laughs lightly with a bit of relief, a bit of disbelief. 

“For one night, yeah, we were.” He sobers quickly, falling silent to brush his lips over Logan’s again. He closes his eyes as Logan deepens the kiss. 

“And all the other nights?” Logan draws back, watching Steve’s long eyelashes flutter as he slowly opens his eyes, focuses on Logan’s face. 

“There were no other nights. You left. I died.” 

“’Cept you didn’t die.”

Steve nods, and there’s a sadness creeping into his blue eyes like dense fog.

“Woke up and everyone I ever knew was gone.” He brushes a hand through Logan’s hair gently and Logan marvels at how much he does not mind. “And now…here you are, and you don’t remember me.”

“Seems unfair.”

“It’s just how it is.”

“I meant unfair for me. I think I’d like to remember how you look naked.” Logan grins lasciviously, just this side of leering. The smile that knocks the frown from Steve’s face makes him feel triumphant. 

“We never got that far,” Steve replies without hesitation, despite the color creeping up his neck. 

“Well that’s a damn shame.” He drops a hand to Steve’s waist, thumb rubbing against the leather of his belt, fingers splayed over rough denim as he keeps his eyes trained intently on Steve’s face. “Maybe we could see about correcting that –”

“Cap. Happy’s pulling the car around. Are you coming back to the Tower?” Tony Stark’s voice cuts sharply between them. Steve drops his hands to his side and takes a small step back, visibly startled. Logan doesn’t move his own hand from Steve’s belt, hooking a proprietary finger through a loop. 

He takes his time to turn and look at Stark, dragging his gaze away from Steve’s sharp jaw line. Banner is at Stark’s side, and both of them are doing a poor job of hiding how flummoxed they are by the scene before them. Stark especially. 

“Tony, y’know I drove the bike over.” Steve states, confused. He might not get it, but Logan sees it crystal clear. Stark didn’t come looking for Steve because he wanted to carpool. Stark came looking for Steve because he knew Steve was following _him_. 

Stark’s stare rests on him for a long pronounced moment, cool but cloudy. He draws a pair of sunglasses from where they’re hooked on the collar of his shirt and slides them on, along with a tight smile to match.

“Okay then,” he says flatly. “See you at home.” He claps Banner on the shoulder and walks away. Only his first step falters. After that it’s like nothing ever happened. Banner follows his friend more slowly, tossing an unsure glance back at Steve before picking up the pace to catch up with Stark.

Steve watches them go, brow furrowed slightly. 

“Don’t tell me. It’s complicated.” Logan states, saving Steve the trouble. Steve’s face screws up in complete puzzlement, _really_ not getting it this time. Logan re-evaluates quickly. Steve evidently has no idea what’s going on between him and Stark and is only beginning to hear the horn of the Clue Train approaching in the distance. 

He lets go of Steve’s hip, tapping him on the waist once before seating himself fully back on his motorcycle. 

“I gotta go, kid. Gimme a call sometime if you wanna go for a ride.” Logan grins, though he doubts he’ll ever get a call. Stark doesn’t seem like the type to share his toys.

*******

Steve calls two days later.

He apologizes for not calling sooner, but it took him awhile to track down Logan’s number. 

Rogue pauses at his open doorway as he’s saying his goodbyes, a knowing smile on her face. 

“Shut up.” He points warningly at her as he ends the call, but she only smiles wider. 

“He’s real cute, Logan.” Her Southern drawl picks up whenever she’s teasing. He’s always kinda liked that she feels comfortable enough with him to dare. But right now he’s just vulnerable enough that the glare he throws her has real venom behind it. 

Her smile slips into seriousness.

“If you wanna go into the city for a bit, I can cover for you at training with Storm,” she offers with a small shrug. “Y’know, if you don’t wanna tell no one just yet.”

Logan forces his face to soften. 

“Thanks, kiddo.” 

She scowls at him, albeit playfully. She hates it when he calls her that. 

“I’ll be back late.” He grabs his leather jacket from the chair he tossed it onto yesterday and grabs his keys from his dresser. 

“Be back tomorrow,” she replies encouragingly, squeezing his shoulder as he passes by. 

“Love ya.” He presses a quick kiss to the side of her face, short enough that her powers register as nothing more than a strange tingle against his lips. 

He makes it to midtown in record time, the roads from Westchester blissfully clear just about until he reaches Washington Heights. Once he hits Park Avenue, he starts to notice the remnants of the damage from the Chitauri invasion. It’s only been a short six months and battle scars still maim the streets and the skyline. 

Avengers Tower stretches high above the scaffold skeleton of the half-demolished Grand Central, the _A_ bright and gleaming even in the daytime. This is so far away from Xavier’s way of doing things; in fact, it’s pretty much the exact opposite. He’d figured The Avengers must not value quiet and seclusion, but once he steps inside the stylish foyer of the forty-seventh floor, he reconsiders. Way up here the city feels a world away. 

There’s no one to greet him and the wide open living room is empty. 

“Hello?” He calls out. Steve cleared him to come up; he knows he’s here.

“Hello, Mr. Logan.” A voice comes from nowhere, somewhere – the ceiling, maybe? “Welcome. Captain Rogers will be with you presently. If you would like a refreshment –” 

“I’m here, I’m here, JARVIS,” Steve rounds the corner, slowing to a walk from a run. “Hi, Logan. I’m sorry, I was in my quarters when you arrived.” 

“JARVIS?” Logan lifts his eyes toward the ceiling and then looks at Steve. 

“He’s an AI. He’s Tony’s.” 

“I do like to think I serve all of the Avengers team, Captain Rogers,” the voice – JARVIS – corrects, and it’s weirder than hearing Charles in his head. 

“Of course, JARVIS. I only meant that Tony created you. He’s the master genius, not me.” 

Now that the mystery of the omnipresent god in the ceiling has been deciphered, Logan pauses a moment to take Steve in. Distressed blue jeans, plain white t-shirt, bare feet. Casual is a really good look on him, even if his hair is still immaculately combed. Needless to say, he wants to throw Steve against the nearest wall and do filthy things to him. 

“Speaking of, is Stark around?” Logan figures he better find out what the lay of the land is before he does anything of the sort. 

“He and Bruce are working in the lab.”

“So, are he and Bruce…” Logan makes a lewd gesture with his hands and Steve flushes. 

“Oh. Oh, no, he and Bruce…I mean, they’re like me and Bucky.” Steve pauses for a moment like he’s waiting for something to register with Logan, then he sighs. “But you don’t remember Bucky. I’m sorry. Bucky was my best friend.”

Logan nods, taking a look around the spacious room. His dirty boots are dropping dried mud onto the lush carpet. He turns back to Steve, thinking maybe he shouldn’t have come. It’s been awhile since he was constantly reminded of the huge gap in his life, how one day he just came to as a fully grown man with super healing powers, an adamantium skeleton and razor sharp claws, and no idea what had come before. 

He and Steve are both a bit lost in time, he supposes. 

He hopes Steve doesn’t think he’ll be able to remember, someday. He’ll only be disappointed. 

Already, he doesn’t want to disappoint Steve. 

“So. What now?” Logan breaks the silence that has fallen. Steve has his hands in his pockets and he’s biting the edge of his bottom lip. 

“Are you hungry?” He inquires, sounding a bit lost. “All the really good places I know are in Brooklyn, but we could take the train. I’m sorry, I didn’t really think this through before I asked you to come-“

Logan cuts him off, pressing him against the wall and covering his mouth with a searing hot kiss. 

“Stop apologizing,” he mumbles between kisses. He’s got his hands underneath Steve’s tight t-shirt already, muscles contracting under his palms. This body, _fuck_. If he could remember anything at all, he wishes it could be that night with Steve. “Show me your room.”

Steve trembles underneath his touch and he draws back slightly to speak.

“It’s too fast, Logan,” Steve whispers, not sounding all too sure he means it. “Isn’t this too fast?”

“According to you, it’s been almost seventy years. You want to wait some more?” Logan drops a hand down to Steve’s ass and urges him closer, letting him feel how hard he is through their clothes. Steve drops his head back against the wall and Logan attacks the arch of his neck, grazing his teeth against Steve’s perfect skin. 

“Okay, my room, my room,” Steve gasps, getting his hands on Logan’s shoulders and pressing him toward the elevator.

*******

Steve’s room turns out to be an entire floor. Even though his mind is ninety-eight percent focused on getting Steve undressed, the cognizant two percent is impressed by the digs.

The place is beautiful and suits everything about Steve. He doesn’t have to ask who designed it but he does anyway. 

“Tony did. Did one for each of us.” He backs Logan against the door, frowning when his body hits with a metallic thud. Logan smiles half-heartedly and bangs his a closed fist against the door again for show. 

“It’s the skeleton.” He explains, pausing for a moment to lift a hand and extend his claws. Steve’s eyebrow quirks up at the shining metal. 

“That’s new.” Steve comments, and continues off of Logan’s questioning look. “Used to be bone.” 

“So I showed you these back then?” He retracts them and Steve grabs his hand, thumb grazing his knuckles softly. He looks at Steve with wide eyes, because that actually does stir something in his memory. 

“Knew about the healing too. When you found out about what I could do, you showed me.” 

Logan could ask more questions, but the action has come to a near standstill and he doesn’t want it come to a full stop. He grips the bottom of Steve’s tee and pulls upward, not stopping until it clears Steve’s head and he can toss it aside. 

“I’ve gotta lot of things to show you.” He holds Steve by the hips and backs him up. Steve goes easily. When Steve’s legs hit the side of the bed, he shoves Steve down onto the mattress. 

When he climbs on top, the bed only gives slightly. 

“Tony had it reinforced. It’ll hold up to anything.” 

“Bet it will.” There is a little darkness creeping into his words and he swallows it back before it takes over. He can only imagine the reasons why Stark might have wanted Steve’s bed extra durable.

“You should see what he did to Thor’s,” Steve mumbles distractedly as Logan sets to work on his jeans. He strips Steve down and then steps back to simply look. 

Steve lifts his head when Logan stops touching him, looking down the length of his body to where Logan stands. 

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks, sounding worried. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Logan replies. And nothing is. Steve’s fucking perfect and he never wants him to be fully clothed ever again. He wants to do everything and anything Steve will let him do. As his eyes sweep over Steve’s broad shoulders and chest, his chiseled stomach and his thick, long cock, already hard and leaking, he can’t keep the carnal growl from escaping his throat. He can feel something take over, like it does when he’s spoiling for a fight. 

Fuck, he’s going to ravage Steve. 

Over and over again. 

He takes off his own clothes with remarkable efficiency and then guides Steve fully onto the bed. When Logan crawls on top of him, letting their bodies push against one another’s, Steve groans directly into Logan’s crushing kiss. 

He’s drunk with lust and even if the world was coming down around their ears, nothing could stop him from keeping on with this. 

He makes Steve come with his mouth, taking him deep until he hits the back of his throat. Steve tries to keep his hips down, his thrusts shallow, until Logan gets his hands behind Steve and urges him harder, deeper. 

Steve’s fingers pull at his hair hard enough to break strands and Logan loves every second of it. He swallows Steve down, tongue snaking out to unabashedly lick every last drop of come from Steve’s skin. And while Steve’s still panting and boneless against the mattress, Logan slips a finger deep inside Steve’s body and begins working him open. Steve shivers and spreads his legs wider. 

Maybe he moves too quickly, greedy for it, and it’s not until he’s fully seated inside Steve’s hot, tight body that he freezes. 

But Steve groans in pleasure, tilting his hips upward, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the sheets. He’s already growing hard again, cock thickening where it lies against his flat stomach. Logan lets himself go, sure now that Steve can handle it. Holding himself up with a hand on either side of Steve’s head, pillow pressed down flat underneath his palms, he sets a hard, steady rhythm and watches as the pleasure plays out across Steve’s face. 

Steve’s touch ghosts across his back, too light for Logan’s liking. He wants Steve to dig his nails in, make him feel it, even for the briefest moment that pain can last. He rolls his hips and pushes deeper. 

“Oh god,” Steve moans as he throws his hands back flat against the headboard to brace himself against the force of Logan’s thrusts. The wood cracks sharply, a ragged diagonal slash all the way across. The newly made two pieces rattle against the wall. 

Logan grits his teeth, trying to keep Steve’s name from spilling from his lips, but it happens anyway. It sounds like everything he never wanted it to be, so full of want and need that he feels weaker every time he says it. Yet he can’t stop saying it.

“Logan…” Steve answers once, long and drawn out between shorter grunts and groans that begin to sound almost panicked the closer he gets to coming, like he’s slightly scared of losing control. 

“Come,” Logan growls into Steve’s ear. He drags his teeth down the curve of Steve’s neck, biting gently at the juncture of his collarbone and shoulder. “Come for me, Cap.”

Steve’s mouth falls open in a broken, nearly soundless groan and Logan kisses him sloppily, careless and uncoordinated. He moves one hand down, wraps it around Steve’s length, and strokes. Steve pulls himself from their kiss and looks down at Logan’s hand between their sweaty bodies, moving over his cock, and that’s it. 

The sight of Steve falling apart underneath him is too much. Logan thrusts one more time and then finishes deep inside, too wrapped up in it to even think of pulling out. His cry is barely muffled against the crook of Steve’s neck. 

He somehow manages to keep himself from collapsing on top of Steve despite the muscles of his arms trembling in protest. Super soldier or not, adamantium would probably crush any post-coital happiness to smithereens. He’s thankful he has enough of his head about him to think of that, at least.

Logan pulls out with more care than he used on entering, and carefully lies down beside Steve on the extra wide bed. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes, running a hand up the center of his own chest and resting it over his heart, which is beating a mile a minute. 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, and in the silence they both stare at the ceiling as they try to stabilize. Steve turns on his side after a moment, reaching out to touch Logan’s cheek. 

Then, suddenly, something creaks and gives way, and the bottom corner of the bed beneath Logan’s feet hits the ground with a loud thud. Logan tumbles toward the floor with an equally loud clank, taking all the bed sheets and half the pillows with him. 

“Well, shit.” Logan mumbles as he struggles to sit up, tangled up as he is in linen. Steve’s face appears over the side of the now slanting bed, full of concern.

“Geez, Logan, are you okay?” 

“ _Geez_?” Logan’s chuckle quickly builds into a full laugh. “I’m fine.” 

He stands up, leaving the sheets on the floor, and surveys the damage they’ve done. 

“Guess Stark didn’t figure me into his equations, eh?” He grins, eyes raking over Steve’s naked body. He’s the perfect picture of someone freshly fucked, hair tousled, lips swollen, streaks of come still drying across those spectacular abs and his inner thighs. Logan crawls back onto the bed, not caring that it rocks unevenly as he does. 

“Really?” Steve asks, getting Logan’s intentions immediately, yet somehow looking both innocent and surprised. Logan shrugs.

“Damage is done. Unless you wanna move to the floor?” 

They do end up on the floor. But that’s later.

*******

Logan’s never felt the ache of a long night spent in someone else’s bed, and as he picks himself up off the floor and starts gathering his clothes, he wishes that he could. The pleasure is still thrumming through his body but he knows that will fade soon. It’d be nice to wake up tomorrow with his thighs sore and his hips bruised and remember.

Steve is asleep, stretched out on the carpet, sheets twisted around his waist and legs. He’s something that Logan hasn’t the first clue what to do with. It’d be good if he could just stand here like a stupid oaf and stare at him as a solution, but eventually Steve’s gonna wake up and they’ll have to decide if they’re gonna try and keep this up. 

More like Steve’s gonna wake up and Logan’s gonna let him down. He already knows how this will end. 

A shared past that only one of them remembers isn’t much to go on in the present. Logan’s had a hard time building on a much stronger foundation than that. 

He pulls on his jeans and is zipping up, latching his belt, when Steve makes a small noise, rolling onto his back. His eyes slowly blink open as he sits up and registers his surroundings. 

He runs a hand through his hair, so gorgeous that Logan wants to get right back down on the floor with him, and offers a sleepy smile that fades fast.

“You leaving?” Steve asks, and he doesn’t sound disappointed exactly. More like resigned. 

“You don’t seem surprised.” 

Steve stands, clutching the sheets loosely around his waist. He finds his own jeans and puts them on before answering. 

“You forget that I know you.”

“Good point.” Logan slips his shirt on and then eyes Steve, waiting for some kind of stronger reaction. Steve doesn’t offer him one and it makes him incredibly uneasy. “I can do breakfast, if you want.”

“How magnanimous.” The words sound mad, but Steve sighs and smiles crookedly. “It’s fine, Logan. Might sound crazy, but it was just nice to be with someone for a while, someone from back then. Even if you don’t remember ‘back then’.” He puts on his t-shirt and then crosses to his dresser, opening up the top drawer and pulling a small wooden box out. 

He sets it on top of the dresser, flips the lid and rifles through it like he’s looking for something in particular. Logan ties up his boots as he watches Steve search.

Steve clutches something as he comes back over to where Logan stands. He extends his hand out and in his open palm is a set of dog tags. It’s clear Logan’s supposed to take them, so he does. 

Running a finger over the lettering, he mouths the name there and then snaps focus back to Steve, surprised.

“These are mine.”

“You left them behind. They were in my things when I went missing, and I guess when the army packed everything up…” Steve shrugs, frowning a little. “Anyway, Howard Stark kept everything in lock up and when they found me again, SHIELD brought it all out of storage. And there they were.”

Logan touches the letters again. He knows he should feel something, he knows these are his, but it doesn’t really matter. The only tags he remembers wearing read _Wolverine_. 

He holds them out to Steve.

“You should keep ‘em. They’re yours.” 

Steve closes Logan’s fingers back over them and lightly pushes his hand away. 

“Starting to think I need to let some things go.” 

“Move on?” Logan suggests.

“Gotta catch up before I move on,” Steve replies, and Logan supposes that it might be too early to point out that Tony Stark is clearly waiting for Steve to catch up. “But yeah, I guess moving on’s the idea.”

Logan pockets the tags and grabs his leather jacket from by the door. 

“Hard to believe you’re still running.” Steve observes, and Logan smiles thoughtfully.

“I’m slowin’ down. Better than nothing.” His hand’s on the doorknob and Steve stays where he is. 

“Hope you find someone worth stopping for.” 

Logan opens the door to the foyer, the elevator a mere few steps away. He walks back inside, it’s greedy and selfish, but he wants to be here for just one more moment before he starts leaving and Steve continues staying. 

“Don’t suppose you wanna give me a kiss good-bye?”

Steve rolls his eyes good-naturedly and steps forward to meet him. The kiss is good and long and hard and Steve still tastes like him, smells like him. As far as good-bye kisses go, it’s a nice one.

He does leave, after that. Steve closes the door behind him gently and Logan is alone. 

But only for a moment. 

Before he can press the elevator button, the doors slide open with a ding and Stark and Romanov walk out. Only one of them looks surprised to see him standing there. He doubts the Black Widow is capable of being surprised by anything.

“Hello, Logan,” she greets him coolly.

Stark doesn’t say anything, which in itself says enough. 

“Stark,” Logan nods.

“Wolf boy,” Stark nods back, lips set in a firm frown. Logan smirks and walks past him into the elevator. He’s not surprised that Stark whips around and follows him back in. Logan lets himself be cornered, because Stark can’t hurt him and he’s obviously got something to say now. 

Except he doesn’t speak. Stark just stares at him, eyes wide and dark with barely concealed anger. 

“Something you wanted to say?” Logan prompts him smugly. The guy obviously needs a push to let his real feelings fly. Logan’s satisfied smile is apparently enough. 

“If you dick around with him, if you _hurt_ him, I will find a way to boil that metal right off your bones. I swear to fucking god.” Tony jabs at his chest. “And I’m a god damned genius, you better believe I will find. A. Way.” 

“Not me you gotta worry about.” Logan grabs Stark by the shoulder and shoves, switching their positions and slowly extending one set of claws toward Stark’s chest. The metal clinks against the arc reactor hidden beneath his shirt and to his credit, Stark doesn’t flinch. 

Romanov yawns behind them, leaning against one side of the elevator to keep the doors from closing. 

“But just for the record, I know he’s a good guy. And if _you_ hurt him, Einstein, I’m coming back here and I’m gonna Julienne your snarky ass.” 

He retracts his claws and pushes a dumbfounded Stark from the elevator. His ire has been completely undone by Logan’s unexpected response. 

Logan presses the button for the lobby and leans back against the far wall, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Thanks for the back up, Nat.” Stark mutters, adjusting his rumpled shirt and trying to act unruffled. Natasha gives Tony a hard look, one eyebrow raised. 

“You know what he said goes double for me.” 

She turns from him and knocks on Steve’s door. 

“Oh, and sorry about the bed,” Logan calls out as the elevator doors slide closed.

*******

Rogue appears in his doorway shortly after he arrives home. He’s collapsed onto his bed – which seems rather small now – looking forward to catching up on last night’s lost sleep, when he catches her familiar scent.

“I take it things went well.” He can hear that she’s smiling before he turns to look at her. 

“Well enough,” Logan replies. He stretches out, tucking his hands behind his head. Rogue invites herself in, coming to stand at the end of his bed and putting her gloved hands on the foot rail. 

“That mean you’re gonna see him again?” She taps his still booted feet, one then the other, back and forth a few times. 

“Don’t think so. One time thing. Y’know how it is.” He shrugs a little.

“Actually, I don’t,” Rogue points out. She’s getting too good at saying things like that and not sounding sad. “That’s too bad, really. Cap coulda been good for you.” 

“Think he’s better for someone else.” 

Rogue tilts her head the way she does when she’s considering, and maybe she’s trying to follow his meaning because she nods a little and comes to the right conclusion.

“Tony, huh.” Logan lifts an eyebrow to signal she’s got it. She wrinkles her nose. “Well. He’s all right and all but he ain’t you.”

“Thanks, kiddo.”

She slaps his foot, brown eyes alight with joyful annoyance, and turns away. 

“And that’s all the comfort you’re gettin’ from me then,” she states. She’s halfway out the door when he calls after her. She pops her head back in, long black hair swinging. The white streak catches the light.

“Rogue. Whatever happened to my tags?”

“Tags…” Her eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. “You talkin’ about your dog tags?”

“Yeah.”

“You told me to keep ‘em safe for you, and they are.” Her lips curve up into a smile. “You really think I’d lose ‘em or somethin’?” 

“Nope.”

“You want ‘em back?”

“Not really. You keep holding onto them for me.” 

“I will, Logan.” He doesn’t miss that she lifts one hand to her chest, fingers lightly touching something hidden by her high collared shirt. She seems unaware that she’s done it. 

He likes that she’s wearing them. 

“Now get your boots off your bed, that’s just disgusting,” She points toward his feet, making a face. Then she’s off again, switching off the light and closing the door behind her. “I’ll wake you up for dinner,” she promises as the latch catches. 

“Marie!” He calls after her again, but she doesn’t hear him this time. 

It’s all right though. She’ll still be here when he wakes up.


End file.
